Quidditch Qualms
by Jedi Goat
Summary: AU. It's Christmas at the Burrow, and Fred and George try to con Hermione into joining their casual Quidditch match. There's a reason she doesn't like flying... Fred/Hermione.


**Quidditch Qualms**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Though really, I don't see how you'd think I did. :D

Author's Note: Haha, my last Hermione/Fred fic got a good response, so here you go, another one! I think I'm addicted to this couple.

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"So, Granger, what say you?" grinned Fred, looping an arm around the slighter girl's shoulders.

"Should be fun," concurred George with an identical smirk, coming up on her other side. Hermione said nothing to the twins' offer, only pursing her lips and shaking off their arms to march forward, book clamped tight to her chest.

"C'mon, don't be like that," Fred protested, quickly catching stride with her. "We all know you want to help our ickle Ronnikins."

"I said, I'll come watch," Hermione said tartly. "But I'd prefer not to make a fool of myself on a broom, thanks."

The twins exchanged glances behind her back as Hermione swept into the kitchen, greeted by Mrs Weasley's warm smile as she bustled about in her apron. It was the Christmas holidays, and the Weasleys had been kind enough to invite Hermione and Harry to stay a week with them at the Burrow; and today the twins had connivingly decided that it was a good as time as any to brush up on Ron's Keeper skills.

It was a brisk afternoon, and weak sunlight filtered through the grove of naked trees as the group of teenagers crunched through the snow. Fred, George, Ron, Harry, and Ginny carried their broomsticks over their shoulders; Hermione trailed them, tugging her woolly scarf tighter about her neck, her current reading tucked under her arm. She had to admit, it was a good day for flying: the snowstorms of earlier that week had tapered off, leaving a crystalline blue sky beneath which lay a deep but crisp blanket of snow and a delicate frost coating the treetops like icing.

While the others huddled, plotting out a game plan, Ron with a makeshift patched Quaffle beneath his arm, Hermione picked out a spot beneath a tree to sit and watch with her book open in her lap. She smiled slightly as the five kicked off into the air in a cloud of snow, splitting off into teams. Two "goals" had been picked out in the surrounding twisting tree branches, and Ron hovered over one next to Ginny and George, whereas Fred and Harry circled the other end of the pitch.

They tossed the Quaffle back and forth for a while, and Fred and Harry managed to pull ahead by a few goals on Ron. When Ginny got her hands on the ball, however, she left them all in the dust, leaving her brothers slack-jawed and wondering when she'd become such a good Chaser.

Hermione soon lost interest in their antics and went back to her reading, when the crunch of snow made her glance up. Ginny approached, balancing her Cleansweep between her shoulders.

"Hey, Hermione," she began, "we could really use a sixth player up there, else they're gonna get flattened." She nodded in Harry's direction, who lunged but failed to block George's attempt to score.

"I'm sorry, I'm not really up for Quidditch."

"C'mon, it's really fun." Ginny appealed her with a pleading gaze, rocking back and forth on her heels. "Please, Hermione? We won't laugh at you, honest." She smiled now in a way that reminded Hermione spookily of the Weasley twins.

Hermione heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Well, all right, but only this once." _It's Christmas_, she reasoned, _I suppose one game can't hurt. _She rose and brushed snow off her coat, forcing a brave smile.

Soon she was outfitted with Charlie's old broom and followed the others into the sky, fighting back an uneasy lurch in her stomach as the ground fell away. Hermione directed herself not to look down as she was greeted with an uproar from her teammates: Fred flew over to give her a high five, even as she hesitated to lift a hand from the broom handle; and Harry grinned at her.

"Knew you had it in you, Granger," Fred said heartily.

"Well," Hermione gulped, involuntarily catching a glance of the white ground angling below and clenching the broom handle tighter, her knuckles white. "I'm not sure I'll be much help..."

"You can be Keeper, if you want," Harry volunteered. "You won't have to fly around very much." Hermione smiled weakly at him, grateful for his attempt to assuage her fears. At that moment George and Ginny zoomed past, flipping the Quaffle between them.

"Hurry up!" George bellowed after them.

Fred wheeled his broom around to follow. "We're coming, we're coming, yeesh!"

Hermione hid a smile as she turned and guided her broomstick much more slowly toward the goal.

Harry's advice proved helpful, as she found she could primarily hover there, watching the fierce exchanges between the other players. Ginny plucked the ball from Fred's hands, turning around and racing down the opposite side of the pitch; but Harry was just as fast as he swerved in front of her, stealing possession. Hermione could almost forget she was flying with them as she absorbed herself in their play; but as Ginny bore down on net she jolted abruptly back to the present.

Hermione's heart thundered as a red-headed blur came flying straight at her; suddenly stopping short, Ginny's brow furrowed as she picked a direction and heaved the Quaffle forward. Hermione lunged, but her fingertips barely brushed the ball as it soared through the entwined branches of two trees.

"Score!" George shouted, holding up his hand for a high-five; Ginny was grinning.

"Nice shot," Hermione approved her friend. Then, determined to save some face, she turned to retrieve the Quaffle from where it had lodged below in a knot in the ancient tree. She leaned forward to guide her broom downward – her cold hands slipped too far, and she let out a sudden scream as she hurtled downward.

The tree trunk rushed up; Hermione clung to the shaft of the broom, face white at her full-tilt dive. She couldn't slow her mad plunge; she was going to crash! Hermione shut her eyes as the trunk reached out to ensconce her –

Something struck her in the side, knocking her off course; Hermione's shriek was strangled as what felt like two strong arms wrapped around her protectively, and she was still falling...

Her protector twisted about in midair to take the fall, landing hard on his shoulder and uttering a soft grunt. They rolled on the ground, snow flying around them, and when Hermione finally dared open her eyes they had come to a stop, her flat on her stomach on top of something warm and breathing, her hands clenched in the front of his robes.

She gasped.

"F-Fred?"

"Got you," he said with a wavering smirk; his face was pale, freckles standing garishly out against his white cheeks. Then he flopped back in the snow, eyes closed, groaning faintly.

Hermione panicked. "Are you all right? I didn't mean to – I didn't hurt you, did I?"

One arm was still wrapped around her back. "S'all right," Fred managed. "Scared me for a moment there, Granger. You got a death wish or something?"

Color rushed to her face. "You were the one who suggested I play in the first place-!" she spluttered furiously.

By now, the others had landed and ran over to see what had happened. George landed on his knees beside them. "Fred!"

"'m all right." Fred grimaced slightly at his twin, who was nearly as pale as he.

Ron's face hovered over them, oddly pale. "What the hell just happened?" Hermione realized in a daze that he had been off on the far side of the field.

"I just saved her life, that's what," Fred countered weakly, raising his other hand to point above them. "She was gonna hit those trees..." He grimaced, "Mind letting go of me now, Granger? I'd like to take account of the organs you've crushed. Thanks."

Hermione, still trembling, hastened to sit up and scuttle away from him, George's guiding hand on her shoulder. As she moved away Fred hissed in sudden pain: she'd jarred his arm which was still hooked around her.

"What is it?" she asked anxiously.

"My arm –" he rasped. "Landed on it funny."

George had gingerly steadied his arm, frowning. "It looks broken. You did hit pretty hard."

"That would explain why it hurts so bloody much," Fred said dryly.

"I'm sorry," Hermione began fervently, but he waved her off.

"We should get you to Mum," Ginny said from his other side. "She'll patch you up right away."

"Yeah, once she's through killing us for being dangerous again," George grimaced.

His prediction proved true, for the moment they awkwardly manoeuvred through the screen door, George and Ron supporting Fred between them, Mrs Weasley descended on them.

"What have you boys done this time? I've told you a thousand times, that's a dangerous sport and I won't have you set such an example for your sister...!" As she spoke Mrs Weasley hurried about the kitchen, wand in hand. Behind her back, Fred and George exchanged glances; Fred rolled his eyes. This was obviously a familiar argument.

Hermione followed more slowly with Harry, who was carting the others' brooms; "She can fix him, can't she?" Hermione whispered anxiously.

Fred heard her remark, as he twisted about to grin at her, seated at the kitchen table. George had helped him to hitch up his right sleeve and his arm now lay limp on the table in front of him, awkwardly bent. "This is nothing, 'Mione. George and I've done ourselves much worse, believe me."

"And you wouldn't have if you'd behaved yourselves in the slightest," Mrs Weasley cut in, hands on hips.

"Mum!" Fred groaned. "That's no way to guilt a wounded man!"

"Oh, you will be wounded when I'm through with you," she warned. Despite her words, she leaned over him, lips pursed, prodding carefully at his bent arm. Fred winced slightly but said nothing, even as she swished her wand purposefully and there was a sharp crack as his bones snapped back into position.

"There, now. Just be careful not to hurt yourself while it's healing." She swiftly wrapped his arm in a length of cloth to keep it immobile.

"Thanks, Mum," Fred said jauntily. "I suppose now it's back –"

"You will not be going near those brooms," Mrs Weasley shot him down, brandishing her wand threateningly. "Now, do something quiet until dinner is ready – and _behave yourselves_, all of you!"

There were scattered groans from the Weasley children, who abandoned their broomsticks under their mother's watchful eye and trooped out of the kitchen. They split off: the twins headed upstairs with looks that suggested they were about to blow some more stuff up; Ron was coaxing Harry into a round of wizard chess; and Ginny curled on the couch with a book. Hermione was about to join her friends when she hesitated.

"Hermione, you want to join in?" Ron rattled a box of chess pieces.

"Er – in just a minute." Hermione bit her lip and scurried in the direction of the stairs.

She caught up with two redheads on the first landing; panting slightly, she slid to a stop to their raised eyebrows. "Sorry – can I have a word?"

"Anytime," Fred offered brightly.

George cast the two of them a look of amusement before starting off. "I'll see you upstairs then."

The two stood a moment in silence, alone. Fred leaned up against the wall, arm hooked across his chest, the other hand rubbing absently at the back of his neck; Hermione knotted her hands together, her stare very purposeful on her feet.

"I just wanted to say thanks," she mumbled in a rush. "For saving me."

"No problem. I'm sure I'm not the only one who didn't want to see you turned into a pancake."

Hermione blanched; Fred grinned, "No really, though, Granger, don't mention it. And I won't tell anyone the – ah – excellent show you made of yourself." He smirked.

"Oh, stop it," she said, chin raised sanctimoniously.

"In any case," Fred chuckled, "wounds like this make me look heroic, don't they?"

Hermione shook her head. "Keep it up and I'll be the one you'll have to watch out for, not your mother."

Fred eyed her warily. "All right, Granger, I've learned my lesson. My charming wits don't work on you any longer."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" she demanded, arching an eyebrow.

"It means," he said, leaning in so that his warm breath tickled her ear, "I'll have to take a different approach."

Hermione's breath caught, but words failed her. She remained rooted to the spot as he leaned closer, tracing the edge of her jaw with the feather-light touch of his lips. Hermione's heart raced.

"St-stop it," she stammered finally.

Fred drew back quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean –"

"No," Hermione mumbled, "I know what you meant."

Then, summoning her courage, she stood up on tiptoe and quickly kissed him. As she drew back, blushing just as suddenly, Fred touched a hand to his cheek in a slight daze.

"Well," he said eventually, a slow smirk working its way across his face. "I suppose we'll have to get you to play Quidditch more often, Granger."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, turning away, "It's just not really my sport. But I suppose," she raised her gaze shyly, smiling, "you could teach me to like it, Weasley."

"As long as you don't end up killing me next time," Fred mused, looping an arm comfortably around her shoulders, "the pain'd be worth it." He winked, and Hermione, pretending to be insulted, lightly punched his side.

"Stop it!"

"Oi, Granger, mind my wounds, would you?"

Hermione just smiled and shook her head.

The End

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